


Hallowed Ground

by Dearly_Divided



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Devil Joseph Seed, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Horror, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Joseph is straight up evil, Mentions of Blood and Torture, Minor Character Death, Spooky, Supernatural Elements, Violence, halloween fic, kind of, not a happy fic, nothing too graphic though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 06:00:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21239315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dearly_Divided/pseuds/Dearly_Divided
Summary: Her footsteps echoed as she stumbled down the aisle, all but collapsing into one of the old wooden pews. She exhaled, buried her face in her hands and wept tears of joy.It didn’t matter that she was hungry, or that she hadn’t slept in two days and her entire body ached. For now she was safe, he couldn’t touch her.So long as she kept on Hallowed ground, Rook would be protected.





	Hallowed Ground

Rook wasn’t sure how long she’d been running. 

The days had blurred together in a haze of panic and fear. She’d slept when she could - an hour or so at a time; the only rest she’d allowed herself to have and even that was driven from desperation. 

She couldn’t afford to stop for too long, couldn’t afford to let her guard down, not when she was being hunted by a creature that didn’t sleep, didn’t _ stop _. He was utterly relentless and with each day that passed, Rook felt him closing in. But what could she do but keep going? What other option was there?

She’d passed the border of Montana a few hours back, the last of the gas in the car she’d stolen spluttering out just over the state lines. She had no money, no food, nothing but the clothes on her back, her mother’s pistol and a knife strapped to her thigh, and the all too vivid memory of their bloodied, broken bodies on the kitchen floor spurring her onwards. 

He was toying with her, she was sure of it. 

** _NO ONE IS COMING TO SAVE YOU_ **

He’d painted the message in red across the front door, welcoming her home. It was a taunt designed to scare her, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t true - her parents had been far from perfect, but they were all she had, her only protection. 

Now she was alone and all she could do was run.

The moon hung high and full in the sky as she staggered her way past the dilapidated wooden sign with all too cheery ‘Welcome to Hope County’ splashed across it - the only signs of civilisation she’d seen in over three hours. The night was unseasonably cold for mid August, the breeze biting at her bare skin as she followed the main road into the town centre. The streets were deserted and eerily quiet - the only sound outside of her own haggard breathing and laboured footsteps was the occasional hoot of a barn owl somewhere in the distance. She fought back a shiver as she trudged onwards, searching for a diner, a gas station - literally anywhere she could rest for a fucking _ minute _ and eat something.

But Hope County was small - a forgotten township in the middle of nowhere - its inhabitants had long since locked their doors and turned off their lights. Rook was starving, tired and almost at breaking point when she’d caught sight of it, just on the outskirts of the town centre.

A church - old and weathered but lit from within, a warm glow that beckoned her in. Half in a trance, Rook stumbled up the steps, laying her palms flat against the doors. Tentatively she pushed, biting back a near delirious laugh when the door gave way under her touch and she slipped inside like a thief in the night.

Her breathing eased as the ancient oak doors swung shut behind her. The church was empty, but the lights were still lit, candles burning at the altar - welcoming those who sought sanctuary even at such a late hour.

Rook didn’t mind, maybe it was better that way. No one to question why she’d arrived, breathless and haggard, well past midnight. She was a stranger and Rook knew better than most how superstitious small town folk could be. Too many questions would do no one any good, least of all her.

Her footsteps echoed as she stumbled down the aisle, all but collapsing into one of the old wooden pews. She exhaled, buried her face in her hands and wept tears of joy.

It didn’t matter that she was hungry, or that she hadn’t slept in two days and her entire body ached. For now she was safe, he couldn’t touch her.

So long as she kept on Hallowed ground, Rook would be protected. Her father might have been an emotionally distant alcoholic, but he’d taught her that much at least.

“It’s late, my child.”

Her head shot up, her hand instinctively reaching for the pistol at her thigh. There, standing in the doorway, his hands raised placatingly was a man dressed head to toe in black, wearing a clerical collar - no doubt the Father of the church. 

She breathed a small sigh of relief, her entire body slumping back against the pew as he smiled somewhat sheepishly at her, “My apologies. I didn’t intend to startle you. I heard noises and I thought I’d come and investigate. We’ve had some break ins, of late. The local kids, mostly,” he shrugged, shaking his head as though it was disappointing but not unexpected. “You must forgive me my lack of manners, it’s not usual that we have visitors at this hour.” 

His voice was pleasant and warm with the faintest hint of a southern twang, and though piercing, his blue eyes were kind. He was handsome, in an odd sort of way - in his late thirties or early forties, dark hair pulled back into a bun, a beard flecked with one or two silver hairs gracing high cheekbones. In another time, another place, Rook might have been comforted by his presence, but as it was all she felt was a niggling feeling in her gut that she quickly quashed. None of this was his fault - she was the one who’d barged in in the dead of night.

“I-it’s fine,” Rook murmured as he walked towards her, his footsteps echoing on the ancient wooden floor. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, I just needed-” she stopped abruptly, the words dying in her throat. She needed _ what_, exactly? 

Safety?

Sanctuary?

A moment to fucking _ breathe_?

What was left for her? Her family was _ gone_, she couldn’t run forever. This church, the holy ground that protected her, it was a temporary fix at best. The moment she set foot outside he’d find her, chase her down until she either gave in and begged for mercy or fell in exhaustion. This was a game, a _ hunt,_ and God only knew what fate awaited her when he caught her. She was under no illusion that the only reason she’d gotten this far was because he had allowed it. He didn’t need rest or food, didn’t feel the aches and weariness that slowed her down. 

He’d broken the wards they’d fortified for years, tortured her family, toyed with them before slaughtering them like animals and leaving their bodies for her to find. She’d be a fool to think that he wasn’t just as capable of snatching her from the very moment she’d stumbled home and found her _ gift _waiting for her.

Maybe all she’d done in coming here was trap herself, and the longer she stayed, the worse it would be when she finally left… She fought back a shudder, trying not to imagine her faceless hunter out there in the dark, circling the church like a predator closing in on its prey.

Her eyes flickered back up to the Father, realising with a start that he was speaking to her.

“-welcome all who seek refuge, no matter what circumstances brings them to us.” 

He was standing at her side, gazing down at her with a sympathy that made her gut clench uncomfortably. “May I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the empty space beside her. Rook shrugged, fighting the urge to curl in on herself as he eased himself onto the barely cushioned wooden pew. “You look tired, my child. Scared. You’re safe here.” He smiled kindly, “Whatever you’re running from, in this house of God, it cannot reach you.”

Rook’s heart stuttered, skipping a beat. Her eyes darted up to meet his, narrowing in a guarded frown, “Who said I’m running from anything?”

The Father laughed gently, “I did not mean any offence, but I’ve been around long enough to recognise the fear in your eyes, my child. You’ve come to me in the middle of the night,” his gaze shifted to her thigh, and her stomach lurched when she remembered the knife and pistol she’d strapped there, “armed and with blood on your hands.”

Rook frowned at his words, but before she could open her mouth to ask what he meant, he reached out and took her hand in his. She fought back a shiver at the touch, ignored the sudden lurch of her gut as he licked his thumb, turned her palm over and gently rubbed at the brownish red stain that was splattered across her skin. 

Her mother’s blood. 

_ A howl tore through her lungs as she sprung forward, almost tripping over the slick tiles. She fell to her knees before them, reaching out, trembling as she grasped her mother’s shoulder. Fighting back the sobs that threatened to choke her, Rook tried to roll her over onto her back - but as the body hit the ground with a sickening thud, her head lolling towards Rook, she screamed, falling back onto her ass and scrambling back through the blood that pooled on the kitchen floor, shaking her head and crying hysterically at the sight that met her. _

_ He’d taken her mother’s _ ** _eyes_**_. _

She couldn’t seem to muster the strength to tug her hand back, she couldn’t do anything but watch as his thumb rubbed circles against her skin - not cleaning away the blood, but spreading it like a child playing with paint. 

“Most who pass through my doors are running from something. Addiction,” he hummed, softly, “failure, loss… pain.” His eyes, those bright, baby blues, flashed up to meet hers, “Anger.”

That niggling feeling in her stomach grew - dread, cold and biting crept through her veins as a wide, unnerving smile crossed the Father’s face. “Are you _ angry_, Rook?”

Whatever trance he’d had her under, the moment those words left his lips it snapped and Rook ripped her hand away from him, jerking to her feet as she went for her weapons.

He didn’t bother to rise, just watched her shakily unholster her pistol, click the safety off and wrap her finger around the trigger with faint amusement. “Oh, my sweet child. That gun did your parents no good, what makes you think that it’ll help you now?” 

She shook her head, taking a skittish step away from him, her eyes frantically darting around the candlelit room as if she half expected it to fracture and crumble like a mirage. “Y-you can’t be here-” she gasped. “They said- hallowed ground, I was… I was supposed to be-”

“Safe?” He laughed as he stood, the sound rich and warm despite the malevolence that dripped from his words. “Your father wasn’t wrong, my child. Years ago, when they built this church they poured holy water into the earth, a priest came and blessed the very foundations - it was holier than these heathens ever deserved.” He raised his arms to the heavens and spread them wide, gazing over the nave of the church with a smile too sharp to be sincere, “Even in its disrepair, you would have been protected by that benediction.”

Like a puppet with no mind of its own, Rook followed his gaze, taking note perhaps for the first time of the sorry state of the church - the peeling paint on the walls, the grime that covered the windows, the scratched and worn hardwood floors, stained with god only knew what. Nobody had cared for this building in a long, long time and despite the cloying terror that threatened to overwhelm her, Rook felt a flicker of sadness echo in some deep, long forgotten part of her soul.

He took another measured step towards Rook, placing himself between her and her way out. “I have been patient, bided my time waiting for you.” His long fingers wrapped around the clerical collar at his throat and tugged it free, letting it clatter to the ground as he advanced another step, chuckling quietly when Rook mirrored it. “Your parents tried to hide you from me, a foolish mistake on their part, one they paid for _ dearly_.”

The pistol in her outstretched arm shook as she fought to maintain her composure. She would not break before him.

He continued, his blue eyes glinting in malevolent delight under the flickering lights, “I suppose they did it out of love - and they did love you, Rook. They tried to protect you, arm you with the knowledge and tools to keep yourself safe when they inevitably failed to do so, but they forgot to tell you one small detail.”

His voice was soft and crooning, but every word was like a dagger piercing her flesh and tearing her apart. “And what was that?” she bit out, unable to help herself.

There was a voice in her head, one that screamed at her to pull the damned trigger and hope for the best, another that urged her to push past him and _ run _ as fast as she could without looking back _ . _Yet she was rooted in place, not because he stood between her and the exit, but because she understood with a gut-wrenching clarity that she wasn’t going to escape, not this time. She didn’t even notice when her arm began to lower, her shoulders relaxing as her mother’s pistol swung limply at her side.

As if he could hear the battle that raged within her as she stared him down, the false Father breathed deeply, his eyes fluttering closed for just a moment, savouring it. “Holy water consecrated this ground... The blood of the holy _ desecrated _ it.” He watched the horror dawn across her face, drinking in every ounce of her agony with ravenous delight. “My faithful acted where I could not, the Pastor welcomed his death inside with open arms.”

He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were alight with glee, sick and twisted; evil and without mercy.

Staring down the devil, Rook shook not with fear but _ rage _. Her parents had loved her, they’d protected her and he’d ripped them apart and painted the walls in their blood. The Pastor hadn’t even known her, yet he’d died too - just so that he could taunt her, lull her into a false sense of security for his own amusement. 

She knew she couldn’t run.

She knew that her weapons wouldn’t hurt him.

And yet in that moment, she didn’t give a flying _ fuck_. All the pain, the anguish, the white hot _ fury _ bubbled up inside of her and with an agonised howl she hauled her pistol up-

He sighed, rolling his wrist with a lazy flourish.

The gun exploded into a ball of fire in her hand and Rook shrieked, dropping the flaming mess of metal and lurching away from it. Yet her fury was far from forgotten. As she righted herself, baring her teeth at him in a snarl, Rook yanked the knife out from its holster at her thigh and dropped into a crouch.

He watched her with an indulgent curiosity, the only indication of his exasperation coming from the single quirked brow, “Rook, surely we are bey-”

She cut him off with a feral snarl, and throwing common sense and any sense of self preservation to the wind she launched herself at him.

His response was as swift as it was brutal. Moving faster than humanly possible he caught her - one hand on her chest, the other wrapping around her wrist and squeezing until she gasped in pain - dropping the knife with a whimper. 

With a satisfied growl he yanked her close, his finger rising to circle her throat. “That,” he breathed, his breath too warm against her cheek, “was a mistake.” 

“Fuck you,” she spat.

He laughed, running his nose along the curve of her cheek as he brought his lips to her ear. “When will you learn?”

Rook barely had time to brace herself as suddenly his grip tightened, cutting off her air supply for just a moment before he flung her across the room like a rag-doll. 

A series of sickening cracks sounded as her body crashed into the pulpit and tumbled down the steps to the altar. Pain, white hot and lancing, shot through her body and it took every ounce of control she had not to scream as she curled in on herself. Distantly, she heard the sound of his footsteps coming closer, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, much less do anything about it.

“Did you really think that you could outrun me, little one?” he asked with a soft, mocking smile as he advanced upon her.

Sprawled before the altar, battered and broken, her knife (useless as it was) knocked clear from her grasp, it was all Rook could do to bare her teeth and growl at him. “If you want me to beg for mercy, you’ve chased the wrong girl. Kill me, get it over with. I’m done running, I’m _ done _ being scared of you.”

He paused and Rook tensed, fighting back a whimper at the pain that shot through her body like a knife at the minute movement. She closed her eyes and prayed to a god she knew had long since abandoned her that he would at least make it quick, if not painless. 

She almost wept when instead of the killing blow, she felt his fingers card through her curls, his palm coming to rest on her cheek. When she forced her eyes open she found him kneeling before her, his piercing blue eyes fixed firmly on hers. “Haven’t you realised? I have no intention of killing you, my love. I didn’t spend _ years _ waiting to find you to do something so small and meaningless.” He shook his head, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that slipped from her eye. “No... I am going to take every good, honest and virtuous part of your soul and _ corrupt _ it from the inside out. I’m going to find every last shred of love and compassion that you possess and rip it from you until there’s nothing left but hatred and spite. I’m going to break you wholly, Rook, and reshape you into something truly _ magnificent_.” 

Her head spinning, her entire body on fire and barely clinging to consciousness, Rook could only gasp out a breathy, “Please…”

“Shhh, don’t cry. This is as it was always meant to be,” he murmured as he leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead, his fingers caressing her cheek with a gentleness that was belied by his words. “You are hell itself, my child, and together we will usher in the Collapse... whether you like it or not.”


End file.
